


Salt.

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-22
Updated: 2005-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:03:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1635434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael loves the underground hotel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salt.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Cosmorific

 

 

Wine... in the underground hotel, the taste of wine lingered in his mouth. Wine on his tongue and the sea on his face, clinging and damp, and the acrid candle smoke in his nose.

He'd played bad boy before; the motorcycle and the leather jacket and then he did his chores, looked after his brother, got straight As so his mom would let him go to the Aerosmith concert. Star made him want to smash windows. Star made him want to fly. Michael rested in her lap, ear still stinging from the needle and potato, and she stroked his hair.

David leaned over him, haloed in candlelight, and smiled. He pressed something between Michael's lips. A pipe--no, the stem of a hookah. "Try this," he said, and Michael blinked and inhaled. It wasn't weed. It was sweet and dense as incense and it made flowers, spirals, velvet in his mind.

David sucked in the smoke as it drifted from Michael's mouth, his eyes half-lidded and dark. "Like it?" he asked.

Michael inhaled again. He nodded, slowly, and David smiled. "More," David said. "Have more. Have all you want. You're our guest."

"We're your hospitality staff," one of the others said, and they all laughed.

"Thanks," Michael managed. His skin was soft and liquid; he felt like a chocolate bar left in a jacket pocket. Star stroked his hair and cheek and the pain melted out of his ear. "That's good wine," Michael murmured.

"Yes," David said. The others laughed around them, and Michael wondered what was funny.

There were hands on his wrists. "Don't," Star said. Hands pulled him up, and Michael stood on his feet.

"Come and see this," David said, and Michael walked with him.

"Please don't," Star said, but her voice was growing fainter.

Michael felt like he was flying. "I want you to see this. It'll be fun," David said, so Michael opened his eyes. Sky like navy velvet, stars, a round and looming moon. The sea, swelling and vast, echoing the midnight sky. Michael leaned his head back against the rotting windowsill and the wind brought him snatches of laughter and music from the boardwalk.

"I love it," Michael said. "I love it here."

There were hands on him again, on his shirt, on his skin. He lifted each shoulder in turn and his jacket dropped away. He heard drums in the water, like blood in his ears, and tasted salt.

"Michael," David murmured. There was a shivery feeling in his stomach, and Michael looked down to see David's mouth on his skin. "Let go," David said.

Michael curled his fingers, one after another, feeling the tiny tickle of soft skin against skin. "Of what?" he asked.

David laughed and bit Michael's stomach. It didn't hurt, but there was blood, or something. Wine. It was sticky like wine.

There was wine on his tongue when David kissed him. "I don't understand," Michael said, but it didn't matter, not really. He felt like he was floating on the sea like a jellyfish. Nautilus.

Like a nautilus, lighter than water, heavier than air. David was lifting him up like he was nothing. "Cool," Michael said, tilting his head back and looking for the craters of the moon.

He swayed, consciousness flickering in and out with the splash of water beneath them. He felt... open. He felt naked. He was naked. The splintery wood grated against his cheek. David was touching him, turning him, licking his skin. "What are you doing?" Michael asked.

"You," David said.

Michael rubbed his fingers over his chin and David slid his hand up Michael's arm and took his wrist. "But..." Michael began.

"You," David said.

Michael tasted salt on his lips and wine on David's tongue. He was being lifted, he was flying, he was looking down into the sea, the beach, the rocks below, his own hair sticking to his face.

Then David bit the back of his neck and it felt like ice cream on a hot day, chilly and shocking and bright. Michael gasped, pushed against David, but David moved with him, covering him.

"I don't understand what you're doing," Michael said again, more urgently.

"There's nothing to understand. Let go," David said.

"I--"

"Let go."

Michael closed his eyes. He burned with the cold, from his throat down his spine to his dick. David... David was inside him, he had his dick in Michael, and it seemed like that should matter, but it didn't. He was melting, piece by piece, flowing across the rotten windowsill.

"Perfect," David said. He let Michael go and Michael's hand dropped to the sandy floor. He shoved, and it was like his dick was waking Michael up; every push stripped away some of the haze.

"Wait," Michael said.

"Wait for what, Michael? What are you waiting for?" David pulled Michael up into his arms and Michael looked at the moon and didn't know. He didn't know.

"Nothing," Michael said. He let go.

David fucked him. Michael closed his eyes and came into the sea.

David wrapped him in his arms and they breathed together. "Told you it would be fun," David said.

Michael felt different. Altered. David kissed his throat, then his mouth, and Michael tasted sweet wine and ocean salt. "You taste good," David said. "I like you, Michael."

Michael had a crappy bike and a cheap leather jacket that his father bought him as a bribe. Like me better. Think nice thoughts about me, even when you're living in the country with horses and Texas Chainsaw Grandpa. And his mother... be safe, be my baby, be good. Accept it when I fuck up your life.

"I didn't know I could do that," Michael said.

David's hands tightened on his wrists and David licked a long stripe down his spine. Laughter echoed over the waves, chased by carousel music, bouncing off the salt, and David fucked him twice, three times, four times, until Michael was delirious, breathless, and dreaming.

In his dreams he was flying.

The End.

 


End file.
